Frost
by Arigazi
Summary: Summary inside. Harry stays at Hogwarts for the holidays; after coming across the creator of winter he earns the ability to make one wish for whatever he most desires. What will he wish for? WIP


**Rating**: This is for a bit of foul language and maybe some references to sexuality -dunno who's yet, I'm just saying maybe. I don't know. I suppose it could be a 'G', but I might have said 'Bastard' a few too many times.

**Summary**: I have absolutely no idea why I just decided to put this on paper, or computer, or whatever, but here it is. Harry's practically the only person still at Hogwarts for the winter Holidays, and just before a rather nasty detention he would have to serve, he goes out for a walk and finds the creator of winter himself: Jack Frost. What's Jack Frost doing at Hogwarts? Upon questioning him, Harry earns the right to make any wish he could want. To fulfill his deepest desire. What could Harry Potter want more than anything in the world? A family of course.

**A/N: **Uh, well. Okay, this is my first Harry Potter fic.Anyway, the weather just kind of brought around this idea that I was toying with. I kind of thought it would be neat if Harry met up with the creator of Winter, the reason behind the best holiday ever: Jack Frost.

**Frost**

Harry P.O.V.:

It was officially the first day of winter today, December 21. What a miserable day. Malfoy had been especially disgusting today. This time though, he elbowed Ron in the gut and pretended it had just been an extravagant arm movement when he yawned. The greasy git Snape had, of course, taken the side of the Slytherin prince, instead of listening to common reason. The cold weather seemed to have hardened his foul mood, it would seem. Lucky me, Ron's temperamental disposition had last the rest of the –exceedingly longer- day –achieving us both a detention from Professor McGonagall for Ron's sharp tongue. I had merely been opening my mouth to apologize for Ron, when she had lashed out and given us both a detention. It must just be a teacher thing –they were all particularly on edge today, even Madam Hooch, who was always the most well mannered of all the teachers. I'll have to serve that detention in a few hours shining the Trophy Room clean yet again!

It makes me wish Lupin were here. He had taught in our sixth year, then left again on some business.

Perhaps, the teachers were all moody because of some kind of new development in the War. What could Voldemort have up his sleeves now? Bastard.

It's not like anyone would tellhim even if something new had occurred, unless it would affecthim in the next twenty-four hours, it didn't really matter, did it? As long as he didn't get that call up to Dumbledore's office to have a 'chat' in his mornings, then he would at least be able to live _one_ more day. It was a depressing way to look at it to some people, but it was the most optimistic way he had to look at these things anymore. One more day was good enough. Make the best of every day, then he wouldn't regret anything when he actually was killed by this bastard. He'd be damned if he weren't taking that cowardly Riddle bastard with him though. If he left Riddle alive before he died, then that'd just give_ The Prophet_ one more thing to trudge his family's name with.

Ah, Christmas. It's right there. About half a week away and he would be spending it alone. Practically everyone was heading home to their families. Especially all the Gryffindors. No one wanted to be around Hogwarts during the holidays. The 'safest' place to be had been attacked and infiltrated by Voldemort himself _and_ his followers on more than one occasion. How safe really was Hogwarts? And people were beginning to see exactly what he'd been realizing the past few years.

So... Christmas alone. That was fine. People would be leaving tomorrow or the day after. I didn't really care or want to care. I would be alone. That's all that mattered. Sometimes solitude was heaven and other times, it brought upon a more melancholy feeling. Something always felt like it was missing.

Well, Dumbledore had at least been decent enough to promise me an escorted trip to Hogsmeade during the vacation. McGonagall had volunteered at the time, but I'm not exactly sure who will actually still want to take me when the time comes.

Third person:

Harry exited the castle to walk around on the grounds. The wind screamed by him, howling and echoing off the stones on the school around him. The biting air pinched his lips and nipped painfully at his ears. It was much worse than the day before –as if Mother Nature were announcing to anyone who didn't have a calendar or a sixth sense, that today was the official start of winter. Snow was falling gently around him, though the hissing wind caused the tender snowflakes to become horrid nuisances.

All this was very distracting and Harry became quite pleased. Sure, he loved summer a great deal, but summer was for thinking. Thinking weather –as he liked to call it. Winter was for ridding yourself of thoughts. He didn't have a snappy name for that weather, it was always to bitingly cold to think of one.

He walked toward the Quidditch pitch, to the West, to experience the iciness of the pitch in this weather. Everything was just so much more hollow and gloomier in the winter time. It was entirely complex and the exact opposite in the summer time or even in decent _normal_ weather.

As he neared, he could see the frost covering the stands and the frozen ground. Everything was so… majestic in all that frost. For some reason, the creepy hollowed silence of the pitch made him think more on its beauty in this peaceful state, than anything else. He didn't think of how impossibly looming and ominous it seemed at the moment; he thought of the swelling feeling in his chest as he stood in the middle of the pitch, hands in his pockets, cloak wrapped tightly around him. It wasn't an uncomfortable feeling, to feel suddenly so small and have everything around him be at such rest. He felt dinky in comparison to the gigantic stadium around him, but, suddenly in seemed more luminous than anything else.

The fragments of light and particles of beauty that seemed to appear as the remainder of thetender rays of sun swam over him whenthe clouds rolled this way or that over the miniscule sun. Every time a ray of light leaned on him for more than a moment he felt a shiver shoot up his spine, then it would go away and he felt empty.

No thoughts ran through his mind at all. All he could concentrate on was the feeling in his chest. Something magical was around him. He assumed it was just the feeling of Christmas, the feeling of the ominous stadium, and the frosty glaze over the world he had once known as Hogwarts.

Suddenly, he heard movements, like something cutting through the air. At first it just seemed to be the wind breaking through his mind's few fragments of thought, but then the sound became so… familiar.

Someone was flying.

How hadn't he noticed that before? It seemed to be something that he would notice. How could he not?

He looked up and was startled into a near faint. Someone –a man- was flying around in the air, but… he bore no broom. He was just… flying. He had no wings, not even a magic carpet or any such thing, he was just a man… flying.

Harry was stunned. He didn't know if he should attract the guy's attention or hide, but before he could argue with himself over it too much, the man seemed to finally take notice of him and fly down, much closer.

The man did twists and flips in the air, arching his backward like a ballerina, with the grace of a vampire. He was spinning and turning so erotically, it caught Harry's breath. His eyes were transfixed with this man. He didn't usually appreciate men in this fashion. Sure he noticed when both either a man or a woman had beautiful characteristics about them. Any halfwit could notice those things, but this man perplexed him. He had never seen such beauty in so raw a form –displayed so purely and with such perfection.

This man flew down like some Peter Pan and hovered above the ground, measuring up to be a lot shorter than he had appeared at first glance. He would come to Harry's chin, were he to actually be standing on the ground at the moment, but he was eye-level with the Golden Boy at the moment. His chest puffing out slightly and sinking back in as he breathed deeply and released that breath with ease. A thin puff of air came from between his lips, seeming like smoke in this cold atmosphere.

Harry's P.O.V.:

I suddenly wanted to touch him, but then I realized how absurd this was. I hadn't the faintest clue who this man was, or why he was flying around at Hogwarts with no broom! He could be some kind of Dark Lord supporter or something, but that didn't seem to fit right with Harry.

This man was too care-free and peaceful to be evil. His very presence was calming Harry's raging heart into a gentle, yet steady, procession.

"Who are you?" Harry asked softly, not wanting to scare this flying man off.

Third person:

_Such beautiful white hair._ Was the first thing Harry thought as he gandered at this beauty. Long white wind-tossed hair, clasped back with an elastic, several strands dangling away –some at odd angles, though none made him look any less perfect. His extremely pale skin seemed to have a tint of blue and Harry assumed he must have been quite cold, for surely anyone would freeze in this temperature with only a sleeved white cotton shirt, black slacks, and black suede shoes. The hairs on his arms seemed to fine at first glance that the mere thought of running his fingers over those strands sent shivers up Harry's spine.

Not a word from this stranger as of yet and he was already contemplating touching him in a loving way. How foolish!

He had been careful about that kind of thing after Sirius had been killed. He had been careful for nearly two years -andnow, at the first sight of this beauty he was already becoming distraught and untrustworthy of himself. How could he let himself begin to fall apart in front of this fair-faced beauty? Small rounded nose, thin face, high cheekbones, full frosty lips with no tone to them, and pearl-like eyes that filled Harry with a purging warmth.

"My name is Jack." The man replied to his question after a pause –his tender features enunciated as he face contorted into the purest of smiles. "Jack Frost."

A/N: I don't know if I should continue this. It was just an idea. Tell me what you think of the weirdness of it all. Oh, Jack Frost and Harry are not going to get 'together' I'm just setting the stage. For what -I'm not sure, cause I don't know if I'll continue this.

Thanks for reading. Please review!


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